What about Bad Dreams?
by sharl-tn
Summary: Arthur v. Nightmares: "He pushed the door closed and slid down its frame, his slight form curling in on itself, forehead to knees, arms over his head, panting for breath, bare toes spread on the cold concrete of the balcony, trying to ground himself in tactile sensations. Real sensations."
1. 01 Bad Dreams

A/N: not sure where this is coming from, and no promises on it going anywhere. Arthur/Eames.

01_Bad Dreams

A gasp. Too loud, much too loud, don't want to wake the others…

Arthur practically fell out of the cot he'd been sleeping in, stumbled to his feet and shakily felt his way towards the door, gently lifting the latch in shaking hands before collapsing through the opening into the night air.

He pushed the door closed and slid down its frame, his slight form curling in on itself, forehead to knees, arms over his head, panting for breath, bare toes spread on the cold concrete of the balcony, trying to ground himself in tactile sensations. Real sensations.

He shook uncontrollably, and desperately spread his fingers into his hair, struggling to consciously focus on the temperature of the night, the feel of his scalp, the fabric of his pants against his face… Don't think, just feel… This is real, this is real, this is real… again and again.

Someone had told him once that the more he got into this business, the more he would lose his ability to truly dream.

Well they were full of shit. He still dreamed, but it wasn't places, it was just feelings… As if by pushing the architecture of the place into his work all he was left with was formless content – sometimes it was gentle, most times it was forgettable, but sometimes it was all terror and anxiety and running and dying and pain. Tonight was one of those nights.

He tried to convince himself it was mind over matter. Stay in the moment, don't think about how fast your heart is beating, don't think about if this is still the dream, don't think at all, just ground yourself in now; the grit of the floor, the push of a hinge in your lower back, the sound of traffic in the distance, the push of your hand on your temple…

The door pushed open, slowly, but enough to unbalance him, and Arthur sprung to his feet, backing away to the edge of the balcony and gripping the metal handrail like a life line. He turned to face the door, still shaking, but straightening his back and hoping the darkness would hide the worst of it.

A tall figure stepped carefully through the opening, turned and quietly shut the door before turning to face him, now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark Arthur could just make out the questioning look on Eames face. "Go away, Eames." He spat out, wrapping his arms tightly around himself before turning away, leaning against the edge of the balcony, pressing his lips together and closing his eyes, still trying to get his breathing under control, but somewhat proud the shaking had reduced to little more than a quaver. Eames probably wouldn't even notice.

Just breathe in and out, Arthur thought to himself, this is the last person you want to show any weakness to, just focus and get through this…

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the weight of a hand between his shoulder blades, the warmth of it felt through the thin fabric of his shirt, and then a second hand on his elbow. He opened his eyes and tried to pull together an angry retort, but was stopped short…

"Arthur, darling – are you alright?"

Involuntarily he took a shaking breath in, looking down, "Honestly, …no." He turned out of Eames hands, sliding down the guard and back to the ground, once more curling up and wrapping his arms around his knees. Eames followed him down and sat beside him, keeping his distance but within reach should he need help – Arthur shook his head, disbelieving – shouldn't Eames have thought up about four ways to mock him by now? But instead he let him be, sitting in a companionable silence, Arthur curled in on himself, gaze forward, Eames in more of a slouch, head back against the guard rail, looking up at the orangey-glow of the urban sky.

Arthur slowly got his breathing under control, and the shaking slowed, he focused on the sensations; the grit of the floor under his feet, the sound of the wind, the fold of his shirt fabric around his elbows, the radiating warmth of Eames beside him. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, he took in a long breath, exhaling slowly as he came back to himself.

At the sound, Eames turned to face him, "Better?"

Arthur nodded, still disbelieving at this sympathetic behavior.

"Well cheers to that. Can't have the brains of the operation coming apart, now can we?" Eames reached over and patted him mockingly on the cheek before raising the hand to ruffle his hair. Before Arthur could retaliate, he'd pulled out of reach, rising to his feet and the offering a hand.

Reluctantly he took it and let Eames help him to his feet.

"Not one word about this." Arthur said quietly, avoiding Eames' eyes.

Eames reached forward, pushing Arthur's chin upwards to face him, "About what, love?" Then dropped his hand, reached for the door and with a bow, waved mockingly towards the opening. "After you."

tbc? who knows.


	2. 02 Attention to Detail

02

Another night, another freaking nightmare. It was always worse when they were prepping for a complicated job, all the planning, the in and out of dreams, the sleeping in chairs, falling asleep in a suit, none of it could be good for him.

At least this time most of the team was out, only Yousef and Eames were in the apartment that was the team's workshop tonight. Arthur woke suddenly, throwing the light blanket on to the floor and huddling on the edge of the battered couch he had ended up in, once again curling forward and focusing on sensations, he tried to get his breathing under control.

Maybe it was worse that he couldn't remember any images – he was such a visual/tactile person, it was more terrifying for the dreams to lack any shape. It made things hard to remember, and left him shattered and possessed of disjointed feeling that was hard to shake.

He heard the squeak of a chair being pushed back in the next room, the quiet padding of footsteps coming towards him, then the couch shifted suddenly as another body sat beside him; close but not invading his space, a gentle hand ending up on the back of his neck before shifting to rub slow circles on his back.

Arthur's breath hitched as he tried to mutter something to the obviously-not-Yousef sitting beside him, but the whisper became a light sob without his permission… He was so fucking tired. Tired of not sleeping (not really), tired of waking up in strange places with a mind full of unknown terrors, just… tired. He never cried, he tried to remember as he shook his head in frustration, a silent tear running past his cheek, but what the hell, you're already way past being mortified that this is being witnessed.

Eames shifted closer, slowly and without his hand leaving Arthur's back, then pushed his arm over the smaller man's frame and pulled him back towards his chest, entwining his arms around him and cupping his hands around his shaking fingers. "Shhh…. Just breathe, c'mon then…" he whispered, twining his callused fingers around Arthur's thin digits.

Arthur closed his eyes and shifted his focus away from the lingering feelings of the dream, away from his growing embarrassment and anger at his own weakness, away from thinking and focused on touch: Eames' chin above his head, the warm hands exploring his own, the warmth of a thigh against his knee, the motion against his back as he breathed. And he breath slowed down to match the motion. His heart beat settled. The shaking dissipated, and the quiet sobs stopped.

As they did, Eames relaxed his grip a bit, less cradling, and more just lingering in a shared space, less urgent, more comforting in his presence.

Arthur opened his eyes, still facing forward, and lifted his hands to run them down his face, letting lose a deep exhale before dropping them back to his lap. "…Thanks."

Eames made no move to relocate, but moved a hand back to run fingers along Arthur's wrist. "Anytime."

Arthur huffed slightly, "lately seems to be all the time. How did you know?"

"I always know."

Arthur didn't question, he could tell Eames wasn't done. Eames paused, shifting his weight to a more comfortable slouch behind him.

"Your architecture," his hand stopped moving as he tried to describe it, "all those clean lines, perfect patterns, geometric forms, it gets sloppy – like its running away from you on the days this happens. Not a lot, mind, but enough to notice if you pay attention to details. As you know, darling," Arthur shifted, annoyed by the off-abused term of endearment, but Eames didn't let him go, "I pay attention to details."

Arthur had no reply for that. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Eames still with his arms on either side of Arthur, the smaller man still slouched against his chest. They breathed in unison, a slow in and out the was comforting, and warm. Arthur stared ahead out the window overlooking the city, feeling Eames relax behind him, then jerk slightly as his head bobbed up.

Arthur had to smile at that, "have you even slept tonight?" he asked.

Eames shook his head, "you caught me. No."

"Wait… You weren't waiting for …this?" Eames didn't answer, which was telling. Arthur turned to look at him, curious, his dark eyes searching. "You did… you were… you knew….? How long have you known?"

Eames looked away before answering, "for a while. But it wasn't until the other night I realized you might appreciate some… assistance?"

Arthur chuckled slightly at that, more the hesitation, uncharacteristic from Eames, "Well I appreciate that." He replied with a small smirk, raising an eyebrow. He raised a hand to rub at his eyes, "We both could use some rest." Arthur rose, and Eames let him, he walked out into the common area for a moment, before dragging one of the reclining work chairs into the room, placing it, and then motioning to Eames to relocate. "I claimed that couch fair and square. Now move."

Eames pouted, "I think we could both fit…"

Arthur cut him off with a look.

"But you're so little?"

"Don't push it, Mr. Eames."


	3. 03 And Next

03

Arthur ran his hands slowly across the polished wood of the guard rail, its smooth finish wrapping around the clean modern lines of the metal stair as he glanced down towards the rest of the team, pausing to examine the quality of the light, not too bright as to be uncomfortable, but with a slightly harsh angularity as if to emphasize the 'busy office tower lobby' efficiency of the space.

In many ways dream architecture was never 100% accurate to reality, details were often added to emphasize the feel of the place versus what it would actually look like. This place was meant as a staging ground, to push occupants through to other locations with a business-like speed, not to linger. Arthur adjusted a cuff-link before descending the stair, if this were really accurate, a few of the high ceiling lights would be out, a janitor would be emptying bins or watering plants, and poorly designed day-to-day signage would be out, pined to glass with haphazard tape, directing groups to meetings, or apologizing that an elevator was down. Reality wasn't perfect, but there was no cause to be distracted with making things 'too real'.

As he descended off the last step, Eames sidled over his way, ready and prepped with snide remark, "Arthur darling, could you make this place feel any more sterile? And fluorescent… really?"

Arthur just shook his head giving the other man a look, honestly, it didn't matter what he designed Eames never considered it adventurous enough, but the designs got the job done, that was what mattered. He walked past him without a comment, wanting to hear what the group was discussing, but pulled short as Eames reached out to touch his arm briefly.

"Not blurry though –," Eames took a glance around the room, "looks fine."

"Good." Arthur managed, "Let's get back to the others."

A/N: apologies so short :)


End file.
